Izzie Stevens. She was beautiful—stunning, gorgeous, perfect cheekbones, perfect structure, perfect hair…need I say more?—smart enough, and single. Mark Sloan, watching from the sidelines at her school, wondered how that was possible. How in God's name could Izzie Stevens be single? Rumors spread like butter around the school about her, which might be one reason. It was just because she was a model for Victoria's Secret. In Mark's opinion, that made her sexier. A lot sexier, he added in his brain as he lagged behind her. He watched her curves slap from the right to the left, her butt swaggering in that girlish way. He felt sick and wrong, looking at a woman like this. She was dignified, like the rest, but perhaps less so. She was a Victoria's Secret model, he thought dully, how dignified could she be? A girl passing by her gave her a passing sneer, sending angry chills up and down Mark's arms. He wasn't usually like this about women. Sure, he wanted them in bed and all, but he didn't know about Izzie. He didn't know whether he wanted her in bed or in his arms, feeling her warmth and smelling her breath. When he was feeling especially silly, he would think about what her breath would smell like. Mint? Cinnamon? Or maybe she chewed bubble gum and he didn't know about it. But Mark would know, he was Izzie's personal stalker. Every beautiful woman like her needed a stalker, one who would rush out when a fight broke out and she was in the midst of it.

"Izzie!"

One man in the way, that one excruciatingly babyish voice. Why did Izzie Stevens see that baby-faced fellow—George O'Malley, was it?—and not him, Mark Sloan? Mark Sloan was the top of the game…right? Questions prodded themselves in marching soldier's lines through his brain as Izzie and Georgie went through the test answers.

"Damn. I think I got them all wrong," sighed Izzie, her voice strained.

"Or I might have," suggested Georgie, slipping his hand in hers. It wasn't a gesture of love, they'd made it clear there was nothing more than friendship in their relationship. But still, it made Mark rear forwards a bit quicker-paced. He wanted to hear their every word of conversation. If he could one "I love you" in there, he swore to himself he would beat the living crap out of George O'Malley. And that was a promise.

"We could check with Addison," suggested Georgie.

"You're kidding, right? Because she's the biggest jerk who ever walked this planet. There's no way you'd catch me with Addison."

"Why? She's a nice person. You just don't give people other than me chances."

"Have you seen the way she looks at me? She looks down from that big…beak of a nose and goes, 'Oh look. Izzie Stevens. Humph.'" Georgie had to admit, despite himself, it was a good imitation, although it was a bit exaggerated. Or maybe he didn't notice Addison's snooty voice because of his own insane crush on her. Thinking of the crush around Izzie made warm blood trickle through his face; he sometimes thought that Izzie was jealous of his oh-so-obvious crush. For some self-conscious, Georgie reason, Georgie sometimes felt like she could read his mind. It felt like that a lot, in fact, because she was Izzie. She knew everything.

"Hey, Alex's having a get-together tonight."

"There's going to be so many drunk morons. No way." Georgie already knew this offer by heart, and knew the response from Izzie as if it was scripted.

"Oh, but Georgieee! It's lots of fun! Alex's crowd's productive—they're smart people, they're all here, aren't they? C'mon, Georgie…lighten up. You know that you want to, you're just a big, fat goodie-goodie."

"Goodie-goodie? Uh-uh. I think you're just getting a little wild because the first test of the year's over. Please, Iz? I really hate Alex's wild damned parties!" Georgie punctuated the last words and Izzie couldn't help but resist. She hated making Georgie angry.

"Fine, Georgie. Wait…how's about I go and you stay for a heated evening with Addison?"

Mark was still following, and almost stopped at the mention of the name. Hadn't he slept with an Addison? Multiple times? He searched his many "slept-with" files, and found that he'd slept with her six times in total—three of them drunk-sex, two of them voluntary. She was the woman with the nice cheekbones, right? And the legs as long as the Nile River. Right. He nodded to himself. He'd caught good fish with those few nights. He was smooth as water, he told himself egotistically.

"Hey, shut up," Georgie was saying. "I wouldn't know what to say!"

"I know what you'd say," taunted Izzie. She turned around and began to make out with herself, making small hissing "Oh Addison! You dog!" and "Oh Georgie, let go! Let go! SQUEAK!" Georgie blushed crimson.

"That wouldn't happen," he reassured, but he wasn't so sure. He liked Addison. If he ever had a "heated evening" with her, as Izzie joked, it might just end up like that. And he almost liked to admit to himself he'd love that, being wrapped in Addison's arms and her enjoying it equally. But who was he kidding? She was Addison. She'd slept with about every man on Med-School Campus, and above that, she was dating somebody. Oh no, wait. She wasn't dating him, it was over. She'd found him cheating on her…with another man. Yes, that had been a very odd night.

"Georgie, I'm setting you two up." Before Georgie could protest, Izzie was strutting ahead, her mastermind already busy at a clicking-state-of-mind work.

---

"This is some party, huh, Iz?" asked Alex, bopping to the crazily loud Shakira. One of Alex's drunk friends was on the table, shaking his hips and singing along.

"Oh baby when you talk like that…

You make a woman go madddddddddddddddd.

So be wise

And keep on

Reading da size of my bod-eeeeee!

Oh talk tonight!

You know my hips don't lieeeeeee

And I'm starting to feel it's right!"

As the music died away, Izzie, feeling a surge of beer-promoted courageousness, leapt on the table.

"This is what I call the New-Vocabulary Shakira," she gurgled through a swirling brain of alcohol. She began to shake her hips madly. Mark, standing at the side, flirting with a chick, couldn't help but notice how great her curves looked shaking like that. Alex couldn't help but notice either, but then, disgusted with himself, twirled to the corner and watched her from afar.

"Oh baby when you speak like that

You create a woman who's insane

So be smart and continue

Sizing up my body.

Oh, speak tonight, you know my hips do not not tell the truth

And this is starting to feel wondrous and amazing!"

With that, she did a hitch-kick to the ground. The crowds parted way for her as she ran through, slapping many trembling-from-laughter hands. She made her way towards Alex and leaned against the wall next to him. He was red-faced with an overdose of beer and laughter. Sweat beads collected at the top of his buzz-cut head.

"This is so much fun!" she giggled. She hiccupped several times before she felt herself being swept into a hug by Alex. She laughed under his grasp and then tugged on his hand.

"Show me your room, Al-Babe, I haven't seen it," she begged. He wasn't disagreeable and led her through the drunk crowds. The smell of alcohol wafted into Izzie's nose and she couldn't help but cringe. She would need a heavy-duty shower in the morning. They walked up the unfurnished steps, the steps creaking underneath their bare feet.

"This is nice," commented Izzie, coming into Alex's room. The floor had a section of it colored in a puke-green carpet, fringed with neon yellow. The bed was neon blue-blanketed and the mattress was squishy and molded with you. She flopped onto the bed and surveyed the room. A miniscule closet was shoved to her right and a wide-open window blew in crisp air from outside. A white dresser was close to the closet, a bit to the closet's left.

"I hate the carpet," she told him honestly. "But this bed-sheet's rockin'!" She did the rocker symbol with her hands. Alex laughed obligingly, it wasn't actually funny but he had to laugh. He flopped down next to Izzie and smelt her alcohol-filled breath. He sniffled slightly, his brain fizzing over from the shock of what he was about to do.

He pressed his lips on Izzie's perfect ones. It was such a shocking; bang moment that Izzie immediately fell into the pit of it. She was thrown to the bottom of this sudden kiss and didn't want to come out. She groaned slightly, in her throat, and didn't feel astonished anymore. It was reset with a desire; a desire that was just at her fingertips. Actually, it was past her fingertips. It was pressing on her. Pressing on her.

- - -

Meanwhile, Georgie and Addison had filled up their seemingly never-ending silence with an oldie's movie, Casa Blanca. Addison was sniffling at the other side of the couch and Georgie was calculating a way to make his move. He couldn't just lunge, that was considered impolite. But he couldn't shove his face against hers, stare into her eyes, and go, "Hey, I love you. Let's elope." He could see that one turning out well. Not.

"Addison, do you like this movie?"

He wanted to curse himself for that idiotic question.

"What do you think?" she blubbered. Her words were muffled and incoherent, hidden behind a mass of tissues. Just as the woman entered the plane, the lights suddenly wavered and all power was knocked off.

"Ugh! It was getting to my frikin' favorite part!" sighed Addison, curling up in a little ball and throwing the tissues into the wasterpaper basket. Georgie admired her for doing that, nobody else who had entered this house had bothered to bring the waste-paper basket over to the couch when they were going to have a cry. Especially Izzie and all her dramas—never once did she have the decency to bring over the basket.

"Addison?" His voice was slow and penetrated the sudden darkness. He could hear the crunch of a couch under Addison's weight, and she scooted closer.

"Yeah, Georgie?" Hearing his nickname cross his lips sent him spiraling back into crimson mode. But he cursed himself and recoiled.

"I love you."

That hadn't come out right.

- - -

"Alex, the power's out," whispered Izzie from under the covers. Her bare body was getting cold and she wrapped the covers more tightly over herself.

"Yea, I know." He could tell form the stopped music downstairs.

"Get on a robe or something; you should tell the guests to go home," encouraged Izzie, snuggling deeper inside the mattress. Everything about this foggy-eyed, drunk incident seemed quite natural. She'd never slept with Alex, but now she knew that she was going to again. And again. Or something like that. She felt a want—almost like a need!—to sleep with him again

Alex nodded and obediently groaned open the door. Within minutes, he was back, announcing to Izzie that everybody had gone. No electricityno power, no powerno music, no musicnothing to drunk-dance to. And what's the fun of a party without drunk dancing? So Alex swept back under the cowers, shoved his body next to Izzie's, and they both felt an unintentional heat.

- - -

"What?" Addison's face, if Georgie could have seen it, would have been blistered and scratched with the shock of that. Georgie? Georgie? Her close friend since the beginning of med school, two years ago? There was no way. Addison knew how to pick up signals for when guys like you. Georgie had given off one alarming sensation—embarrassment. Other than that, though, they had been signal-free and care-free. Now here he was, telling her he loved her. It was shocking and sent coldness spiraling down her bloodstream.

"Um. That didn't come out right. It's probably not love anyways."

"But you…"

"Crush on you? Erm. Yeah."

"Wow."

There was an awkward, shifting-nudging-filled silence that collapsed the evening's serene emotion.

"How's this night going to end?" pondered Addison. She clasped her hand protectively over her mouth; that wasn't supposed to come out. That was supposed to stay in her frikin' head! But no. Her mouth turned straight and white with the tightness of them stringing together. She was deep in thought. She was in a darkened room with a man who loved her and was cute in and odd way, she was wearing a skimpy nightie—she knew exactly how this was going to end. And almost—just almost—wanted it. But not quite. She told herself that she'd better just make the move, get it over with. And she did. It came out as more of a leaping motion rather than a lunge, but Georgie got the picture. The whole time, he couldn't stop thinking about how he'd had a dream exactly like this just two days before.